A Dark and Uninteresting Affair
by D'Euly
Summary: After the Dark Lord’s final defeat, Severus Snape makes his reentrance into the wizarding world. Thirty years of spying, lying, and deceit leaves its mark on a man, and Snape finds himself confronting his past actions as he tries to figure out how to sur
1. Preludium

Disclaimer & Author's Notes: It's been quite a while, but I'm back – and the muse is calling strongly. No longer a one-shot: _Musings_ is turning into a full-length post-war fic. HBP-compliant; there be spoilers here. These spoilers, as well as all the characters, are the brainchildren and property of the great J. K. Rowling. I'm using them to gain no money...but please review! It puts life into my day!

_It is hard to make goodness – and good people – sound interesting. Yet the good are worthy of note, of course, because they _battle_ and that battle is a great story, whereas the evil are evil because of moral laziness, or weakness, and that is ultimately a dull and uninteresting affair. _-Alexander McCall Smith

Chapter 1: Preludium

From somewhere very far back in his mind, a tenuous thought arose.

_Haven't I done enough?_

He didn't even bother to dismiss the thought.

It was never enough.

For ten years he'd had that burned into his mind; he bent his knees, his head, his will to it all. For twenty more years he'd lived by it. It was far too late to stop.

He tended not to think about the time before he'd left. The last year he ran with the Death Eaters as one of them had ceased to trouble his thoughts. He'd taken the memories, rammed the shame down his own throat, forced himself to swallow the revulsion and the pain and the overwhelming, searing guilt. He'd used every tactic the Dark Lord had taught him.

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. The Dark Lord was good; his training flawless.

"Oh, Severus is smart," his own parents had said of him. "Too smart for his own good." True, certainly. The Dark Lord had seen that; he'd seen everything. One look and he'd seen every day Severus had ever lived: every taunt he couldn't endure, every failed retaliation; every time he'd hid from his furious parents, put his fist through a window, hexed a squirrel. He'd seen and he'd made good use of it. The best.

He modified his training for each individual. Bella was coaxed gently along, given opportunities for sadistic pleasure at a level that she'd never imagined. Lucius had been cowed by fear, then intoxicated by the lure of power.

But Severus was taught to appreciate his intellect: how to use it, how to strengthen it, how to hide in it when the world was too much. He was taught how to react, how to plan ahead, how to make decisions quickly. He was trained to separate his mind from his body; an abusive parent always jump-started that process, and the Dark Lord finished it well.

The Dark Lord had also – somewhat inadvertently – made them all masters of tact. Only the smart, the careful, and the lucky survive a rough interview.

And then he, the Dark Lord's servant, had taken himself away. Every technique of disguise, every breath of secrecy and stealth was used against his master. And, as so often happens, the apprentice had won. The perfect fighter, the intellect unmoved by emotion, the wand that never trembled had pointed at the Dark Lord himself. From behind his back, of course; the only way to survive. And he had survived, and the Dark Lord had not.

No, it wasn't the memories of those years that still brought him shame; it was the day he'd decided to leave.

When had the moment of decision occurred? It passed by without him noticing. He was used to making split-second choices, used to trusting himself without wasting time in analyzing his own thoughts. He'd Apparated to Hogsmeade almost without realizing it and followed his memories onto the Hogwarts grounds. He had nearly faltered then – the memories of all his failures on those lawns had nearly overwhelmed him – but he forced his memories to push him onward instead of back. Once inside the castle, he'd headed straight to Dumbledore. Of course.

This was the part that brought the heat to his face and drove his teeth to chew his lower lip. He'd walked in, absolutely, shiningly certain that once he'd forced those few words out, he'd be free. Forever.

How could he have thought that; how could his intellect have deserted him for those crucial moments; in the wail of a student, how _could_ he have been so _stupid_?

The first thing Dumbledore had taught him – his new teacher, now, but one who disdained any notion of mastership; and, to be sure, Snape was in no mood for another master – was that things hadn't changed. The fighting among friends, the backstabbing, the distrust were perhaps even more evident when one was on the side of Good.

There would be no trust, no acceptance from a soul in the Order – except, of course, Dumbledore. And that distrust, of course, was not only predictable but right. How Dumbledore could have believed him, how he had known Dumbledore would believe him: these were best left unconsidered. A drowning man will grasp the right straw sometimes. Especially if he's smart.

But it was out of the frying pan and into the fire for Snape, and the conversation in Dumbledore's office gained momentum as that became clear. Finally Dumbledore had looked at him with those eyes that carefully refrained from seeing anything they shouldn't, and ended the conversation and all of Snape's hopes.

"You do realize that in order to position yourself to the best advantage, to become our most valued man, and – I will not hide this from you – to prove your loyalty to the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, you will have to go back to Voldemort."

Severus stood up from the sterile infirmary chair and paced over to the window, stood looking out, unseeing. His body was poised, listening for any change in the rough breathing of the boy in the bed.

"Throughout our whole lives, we shall be kept fully employed with our own selves, taming our body, killing its passions, controlling its members till they obey, not the passions, but the spirit."

He had been muttering that one day; it was one of the Dark Lord's favourites. He was seated on the floor, crammed into a corner. With every clause he pounded his fist against the stone beneath him; blood was seeping and drying around his knuckles. The door opened, Dumbledore's feet walked calmly into his field of view, and he killed the impulse to jump up and apologize.

"Interesting choice of words," the headmaster said. Snape gritted his teeth. He couldn't stop saying them, words that bound him to the Dark Lord surer than any spell.

"I meant that," went on the voice from above, sounding slightly amused, and Severus now had to squash the impulse to stab the irritating feet which were now tapping happily around him. "Martin Luther. _Preface to the Epistle of St. Paul to the Romans._"

The feet had strolled across the room and were almost at the door again. Severus's head came up. "What?" he asked. Stupidly. Like a fool.

Dumbledore turned, his hand on the doorknob. "Martin Luther. German theologian, 1522. Muggles call him the father of the Reformation? Those were his words." He opened the door and was gone. Theatrically.

Severus was still, eyebrows knit together, breathing lightly. The seconds ticked by. And for the first time in twenty years, the Potions master leaned back against the wall and laughed till the tears came.

And the tears fell, and stopped. He wiped his face on the knees of his robe and pulled himself to his feet.

From that one slender thread of hope, that what the Dark Lord had corrupted might not always be evil, he clawed his way back into life. By the Dark Lord's methods, no less. Voluntarily working through every exercise he had been forced to perform as a teenager, he would sit at night for hours in silence, pulling the memories before his eyes. A house afire. The look on a child's face as she opened her eyes for the last time. The detached hand of an old woman, slightly squashy under his foot.

He pushed his mind farther and farther, ignoring the tears and the sobs that gasped from his throat. The first torture session he'd observed. The first time he'd been assigned to punish a recalcitrant apprentice. The longed-for look of parental pleasure on his mother's face as her son received the Dark Mark, and the unbelieving pride_...control, control, take it..._looking at the tattoo – his vindication, his reason for living..._push farther, don't stop..._ The joy – the ecstasy – of his first major battle, the fierce hot passion as his trained muscles pushed him on and his clean mind cut through the confusion and his sharpened spells sang through the darkness to bury themselves in flesh –

He'd pushed himself to his limits once more, and found (once more) that he could exceed them. And a week after that scene, he presented himself in Dumbledore's office: cleaned, calmed, controlled, and ready to walk back into the lion's den.

And so it began again. Eighteen more years among the lions. And at the end of those eighteen years, he had...he had paid the price for his liberty.

And then there'd been another year.

And it would never be enough.

The boy on the bed sighed in his sleep and Severus Snape returned to his seat, rested his head on his hand, and resumed his watching.


	2. And Allegro

Chapter 2: ...And Allegro

The peaceful silence, and Severus's musings, were suddenly broken by the clattering of heels on the stone floor. Snape rose unhurriedly, turning to face Professor McGonagall without a wand in his hand for the first time in a year. Her face was grey and tight with weariness, but she was moving quickly and surely; no spell had left a mark on her.

"Minerva," he said courteously. She ignored his greeting and pushed past him. Only when she saw the boy, lying and breathing peacefully enough, did she relax and turn to face him.

"Severus," she said, the old, familiar name coming in her relief. "You must have come here straight from the battle. Has Poppy come back yet?"

Snape shook his head. "Probably still on the battlefield, dealing with the wounded. He'll live," nodding to the bed, "nothing but shock and exhaustion, as far as I can tell. He needed quiet, so I brought him here."

"Shock – well, no wonder," the professor said, turning back to Potter. "I came as soon as I could – it took me all morning to organize our side, get Aurors to deal with the prisoners, count the Order's losses...I couldn't find Harry, no one knew where he had gone. I finally thought of Hogwarts when I realized you must have taken him." There was a pause, and what she really wanted to say came out in a rush. "I still can't believe it, Severus, I still can't believe he's gone. The Dark Lord...is gone. Is dead."

"If 'dead' had any meaning left for him, yes, he is dead. Every Horcrux destroyed and his wrecked body now gone too, killed by a seventeen-year-old boy."

"Seventeen years, Severus, seventeen years since the day we thought he was gone. But this...today isn't like that day was. I can feel it."

Severus shook his head and held out his arm. Dirty and smeared with blood, there was nonetheless nothing to see. "It's gone, Minerva. The Dark Mark has vanished. Not just paled. It's _gone._ He's gone."

McGonagall stared at his unmarked arm, first in relief; then her face tightened, and tension entered the room. Snape's mouth twisted into a sardonic smile; he knew what she had just remembered. Their easy, thoughtless interchange had hearkened back to the days before the Dark Lord had returned, when they had been merely colleagues; when there had been mutual respect and yes, even trust in their relationship. There was a year to be accounted for: the most recent year they had spent as enemies. The professor saw his smile, and her lips thinned, but she opened her mouth in determination. "Severus, I...I need to apologise."

Snape's smile turned into an innocent mask. "Why, Minerva, whatever for?"

The professor scowled openly at him this time; she knew what he was doing, and she had no option but to play into his hands. "For doubting you, Severus. For believing the facade you put up to fool the Death Eaters."

Severus smiled at her again. "No apologies necessary, Minerva. The facade was created for the purpose of fooling everyone – on both sides, if necessary."

McGonagall's glare had vanished; she ignored his baiting. "But Severus, you of all people. How could I have believed him?" At this, one of Snape's eyebrows went up.

"Believed who, Minerva?"

"Harry, of course," the professor replied distractedly, turning back to the bed. She reached down to stroke his hair, brushing a few strands off the boy's face. Not a boy, not any longer; stubble was clearly visible on his chin, but in sleep his face was nearly innocent. "He hated you, I knew that. He accused you of stealing the Stone when he hardly knew you. And he blamed you for Sirius's death as well. I should never have trusted his word about you. He idolized Albus, and to see him...dead...well, I'm not sure I blame Harry. He must have been in complete shock, and I suppose you Confunded him as well, though it wouldn't have been hard. He came into the hospital with this tale of being Petrified, standing by and watching you murder Albus – I should have checked, should have searched his memory..."

Snape put a hand on her arm to cut her off. "Minerva, what are you saying?"

McGonagall turned to him. "Oh, Severus, I know it was a farce! No one could have touched Albus but the Dark Lord himself, we all knew that, it was perfectly obvious. But Harry appearing that night, telling us all it had been you...the boy was convinced it _was_ you, you know. Whatever you did, however you Confunded him, it worked. But now we know the truth, Severus, and now it's over."

Something very odd was happening inside Snape's brain. "The truth, Minerva?"

"Must you hear me say it? We know you didn't kill him, Severus. It was merely the poison from that blasted Horcrux; we know, we know! As a matter of fact," her voice grew rueful, "Potter probably still believes it was you. He went to that final duel thinking it was you...well, we all thought it was you up to the point when you..."

"Yes, yes," muttered Snape, who wasn't in the mood to hear a recitation of his actions the previous night.

"But we know now, Severus. Everyone knows, unless they're still unconscious, like Harry. Everyone knows you were on our side the whole time, and you didn't kill Albus, you just," her voice faltered for the first time, "made use of his death. You had to, I see that now, we all see it. But now it's over, the Dark Lord's fallen, you don't have to lie anymore. You're...you're a hero."

She turned to him and gave him a quick hug before taking his seat by the bed, watching Potter's face eagerly for any sign of movement. Snape stood by the bed, stunned.

_We know you didn't kill him, Severus..._

_It's over, the Dark Lord's fallen..._

_You're a hero..._

He turned and walked abruptly out of the room.

_It's over..._


End file.
